Alone
by frilencer
Summary: "Yet now those eyes are different and they scare Tony. He has never seen his father's eyes like that. Never. Suddenly he realizes that everything is about to change." A story set both in the past and in the future, involving Tony's mother's death.


**Soooo here I am :) I spent my Saturday writing this oneshot and I hope you'll like it. Enjoy :)  
**

**Thanks to Megan who betaed this. I don't own NCIS (of course).**

Alone. He has never felt so alone before. People wander around him in a boisterous vortex and he is nothing else than the still and silent eye of the storm. Screaming, crying, a siren in the distance; Tony's ears are like covered by a layer of wadding and all the sounds come to his ears softened, distant, vague, foggy. The stream of images pass in front of his eyes, but he doesn't see them. He doesn't understand what is happening around him. He doesn't want to understand. He doesn't want to see or hear, he can't gather his thoughts in his mind and these thoughts zip through his synapses, escaping the stark reality that springs up in front of his eyes.

A body is lying on the ground, motionless; a body abandoned on the asphalt of the road, with a trickle of blood flowing down the face, the hair scattered, the lips half shut. It's a ghastly scene, but Tony can't stop observing silently that body, that face, that fatal road. His mind is frozen, his eyes are vacant, cold, dull. His arms are hanging at his sides, his body is still. He wants to run towards her, he wants to hug her, he wants to make her open her eyes and see her smile like she was smiling a few moments before. He wishes his mother talked to him and he wishes she opened her eyes, her mouth and she held him and kissed him.

But he can't change the reality and Tony can't do anything but stand still, looking at the sight of life creeping away from his mother's body.

* * *

He can't stay still. He moves, he flounders and his thoughts stress out together with him in his mind, thoughts that tangle up in a vague hank, a hank that gathers in his brain, blurring his awareness of the going by of the time and of what is surrounding him. He only sees the bright white of the corridor of the hospital, a white that blinds him and that makes it even harder for him to bear the pain that is pressing against his temples.

The waiting tears him from the inside like an acid, the anxiety hangs on his veins, scratching his bones violently and his whole body is stretched, stiff and there is no way to soothe the tension of his muscles and of every fiber of his skin. And the silence, the _silence_. The silence gets into him, emptying him of every emotion, leaving a dense clot of nothing in his chest. He has to resist, he _needs _to resist. He can't let himself flop down and cry, not now that he doesn't know yet what will be the end of this, not now that Ziva could still need him.

_Ziva_. The images of those instants keep haunting him. They are a movie that it's not possible to stop, a movie that his mind projects in front of his eyes. And if he closes his eyes, he still hears the whistle of the bullet, he still feels the vibration of his vocal cords while a scream breaks in his throat. He still hears the deep silence of the moments that followed the bump of her body, fallen to the ground.

He opens his eyes because that bump and that silence aren't anything else than the umpteenth scratch, the umpteenth shred of hope that sags inside of him. He needs to scream to suffocate that silence, he needs to yell to cover that bump. Yet he keeps quiet, because the acid of anxiety has climbed up to his throat, drying his mouth. Then he trembles, and he keeps trembling because the fear has got into his bones, into his muscles, and it's slowly getting into his lungs as well and suddenly he can't even breathe anymore.

Then Tony sees him. A child is sitting on a chair a little far away from him. He is looking in front of him, without moving his gaze that looks vacant, like he is actually not looking at anything. His legs move nervously and his uncovered arms shiver. Tony looks at him and the child must have felt his intense gaze on his body because he raises his head and looks at the man. Tony gets lost in the child's green eyes, those eyes that look so sad and needy, those eyes that the child inherited from his father.

* * *

While he is looking in front of himself, sitting on a chair in the corridor of the hospital, the fear climbs up to his chest, catching his heart in a vice-like grip. The silence has given him the chance to process what has happened, it has given him the time to realize that her mother will probably die.

He doesn't want to believe it. He _can't_ believe it. He can't believe she won't hold him in her arms anymore. He can't believe they won't go to the park together anymore. He can't believe they won't eat tons of ice-cream anymore, crouching on the couch, watching one of those movies that Mom loves so much. He can't believe she will never make the apple pie on Sundays anymore, he can't believe they won't go to the movies to watch Disney cartoons. He can't believe he won't have a mother any longer. He can't believe he will soon be alone.

Suddenly he feels his father's gaze on him and raises his head, meeting the man's eyes. There's something that is stressing out in his eyes and anxiety hides a deep sorrow and fear. How different those eyes are from how they were the last time Tony observed them carefully. How different from now those eyes were that day on the boat, during the fishing trip. How bright they were while reflecting the light of the sun just like the surface of the sea was. How beautiful, how smiling they were when his father's hand grabbed the last tuna they had caught and he and Tony laughed together, looking at the tuna floundering, thinking about how good the dinner would be that night, when Mom would cook the tuna and they would all eat it in the garden, listening to the cicadas and smelling the nice aroma of summer. How shining those eyes were when his father was looking at Mom that night. They gleamed just like they were reflecting the light of the sun again, but it was dark because it was night.

Yet now those eyes are different and they scare Tony. He has never seen his father's eyes like that. _Never_. Suddenly he realizes that everything, _everything_ is about to change.

* * *

Tony looks at his son's eyes and immediately realizes that they have never been like that before. He can't describe exactly what he sees in his eyes. There's fear and anxiety and pain. His eyes look so distressed, so different from usually, so different from the night before, when the three of them were eating pizza while watching _Finding Nemo; _so different from when Ziva tickles him and he laughs fit to burst; so different from when they shine after seeing his Dad waiting for him outside school. They are just so different. Tony has never seen his son suffering that much.

Tony knows he should go to him. He knows he should hug him, tell him that everything will be just fine, that Mom will make it. But how could he convince his son, if he himself has lost all hope? So he stands still and keeps looking at the child who, in the meantime, has moved his gaze and is now carefully observing his hands that are poised on his legs. His face let what he is feeling show, even though he looks impassive: Tony knows how to read his son's emotions on the child's face, he can understand what the child he has raised is feeling. And the more he looks at him and the more he looks at that fragile creature torn by fear, the more he needs Ziva, the more he needs the woman he loves, the more he needs to have by his side the only person who can pull away their son – and Tony himself – from that pain. But that only woman is now lying on an operating table somewhere in that hospital and Tony can't do anything to help her. _Anything_. He feels so helpless because he can't help either the woman he loves or his son, so he stops looking at the child because he can't bear that sight any longer.

The seconds pass and the silence is so thick that Tony could swear he can hear the ticking of his watch. He tries to empty his mind of all thoughts and surprisingly he succeeds. Seconds pass and he is just floundering around, without focusing his mind on what is going to happened or what he is feeling. He just has to wait. He can't let himself think about the immediate future, he can't let himself imagine what this future is going to be like without her. He just has to wait and keep hoping. She will make it.

* * *

She didn't make it.

Tony doesn't see the people and the cars around him: the world is covered by a layer of tears and everything looks blurred, fuzzy. When they arrive home, he can feel the silence. There is no more laughter in the house. There are no more lights lit and music on. The house keeps being dark and silent for months and years.

His father is barely living. He is just staying by himself, drinking, dating random women whom he doesn't even know the name of. Tony is left alone for days, months, years. He lives by himself, just like his father. He lives by himself, playing alone, spending days staring at the wall in front of him. No one drives him to Disney World. No one buys him toy soldiers or VHSs. No one hugs him when he is crying. No one tells him "I love you." No one is there for him and he is alone.

He starts watching his mother's movies alone. When his father is away for business, he spends days watching movies. He knows every line of every movie of his mother's VHSs. There's nothing else he can do. He is just a eight-year-old child without a mother and with a father that he rarely sees.

Every day he wishes his mother were still alive. He misses her too much. He misses the life he used to have when she was still alive. He misses her, and her laughter, and her hugs. He misses her smile, her voice, her touch. He misses the family he used to have when she was there with him.

He is alone, as alone as he has never been before. And being alone hurts.

* * *

The house is silent and dark. Every inch of it misses Ziva. Her lack of presence is everywhere. Her absence is present. Tony can't believe she won't lie on the bed next to him anymore. He can't believe they won't have breakfast all together anymore. He can't believe he will have to go to work alone every day. He can't believe he will have to get used to live a life without her.

He spends his days doing nothing. He just lies on his bed and stares at the wall in front of his eyes. Most of the times, he cries. He cries until his eyes are dry and there are no more fluids inside his body. He cries until his whole body hurts, he cries until he can't feel anything anymore. He cries and he lives alone.

The loneliness kills him slowly. His life is empty, just like his mind and his heart. He is not able to do anything. He lives a never-ending nightmare, sinking into a deep hole of nothing. He starts drinking because he needs to forget. He needs to forget how beautiful it was to live with her. He needs to forget those wonderful days he spent with the wife he loved – and still loves. He needs to forget her smell, he needs to forget the beauty of her eyes. He can't keep on living as long as she stays inside of him.

Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night, thinking she is still alive. He tries to hug her, but he only hugs the air. He cries. He can't forget her. He loves her too much. He will never forget her. He will just keep on living as a ghost, trying to survive the sorrow. His life has nothing more to give him.

One night, he can't sleep, like almost every other night. He stands up and walks slowly towards the kitchen. He needs a sleeping pill. He needs to sleep. He walks past his son's room and suddenly stops. He takes a look inside and sees his child's body abandoned on the bed like a corpse. Yet, he is alive, because his heart keeps beating and his lungs keep breathing. However, there is no sign of life on his face. He is just a lonely child who is living by himself. His mother has died, killed by a bullet. His father has left, buried by his mother's death.

Tony looks at the child and feels like crying.

He let that bullet kill his wife. He won't let that bullet kill his child too.

He enters the child's bedroom and holds him tightly. The child rests his head on Tony's shoulders, silently crying. The man caresses his cheek and presses a kiss on it, feeling the warmth on his lips. Closing his eyes, he leans his forehead on the child's cheek and murmurs some words in his little ear.

"I won't leave you alone."


End file.
